


With Romantic Intent

by poselikeateam



Series: Higher Vampire Jaskier AUs [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Courting Rituals, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Disaster Jaskier | Dandelion, Established Relationship, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Higher Vampire Jaskier, Himbo Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Feral Bastard, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Miscommunication, Monsters, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Not Beta Read, Oblivious Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Vampire Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24281518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poselikeateam/pseuds/poselikeateam
Summary: Jaskier decides that it's finally time to start courting Geralt. He just needs to make it obvious enough that the silly man will take the hint — and, in the process, figure out that he was never quite as human as Geralt thought.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Higher Vampire Jaskier AUs [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754371
Comments: 52
Kudos: 1713
Collections: Best Geralt, Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	With Romantic Intent

**Author's Note:**

> What's up, I'm not gonna stop. I might throw all my Higher Vampire Jaskier AU fics into a series just to keep them together. Not sure. Big ups to the Geraskier Discord server for helping me come up with courting rituals.

Jaskier has been around, in some capacity or another, for centuries. Granted, most of this time was not spent as a bard, or a human, or even 'Jaskier'. None of it, strictly speaking, was as a human, but there was a good stretch of time when he hadn't even bothered pretending, hadn't known that he could, so compared to that he is about as human as he can get, now. The point of the matter is that he has been around for a pretty respectable amount of time, if he does say so himself, and he has done a lot during his time. He has fallen in and out of love so many times that he could fill a library with the stories of his trysts. Some, admittedly, had ended better than others, but heartbreak is just a part of living, especially when one is both essentially immortal and a hopeless romantic.

The problem with falling in love as easily as getting out of bed in the morning, or at the very least one of the problems, is that it is very rare for him to meet someone who can match him in longevity, let alone make his fickle heart take that into consideration. Sorceresses are very long-lived, for example, but he can trust them about as far as his human bard persona could theoretically throw them. Someone like the Countess de Stael, on the other hand, is captivating, a whirlwind romance that is beautiful and self-destructive, a morning glory sort of love that's gone in the blink of an eye but will entertain him for lifetimes to come.

His point, really, is that it is not quite common for one of his kind to find and keep love. He is not willing to pursue longevity in exchange for passion, comfort rather than excitement. He also is not willing to attempt, as he knows some of his kin have, to force longevity on a mortal paramour. They are beautiful flowers, but every flower must wilt and die; their ephemeral nature is part of their beauty. Just as petals pressed between the pages of a tome lose something of their beauty in exchange for permanence, lose their colour and spirit and romance — so, too, would a mortal. The exchange is usually not worth it, in his opinion, which is probably why sorcerers and sorceresses are the way that they are. He would rather love a flower as it wilts and dies, knowing what comes after it blooms and cherishing it until that moment anyway, remembering it for its beauty in its prime, than force it to stay and rot long after it has wilted because he is unable to let go.

So when he fell in love with a Witcher, well. That was different.

As it has been with all of his loves, he fell headfirst into it without giving any thought to the consequences. At first, of course, Jaskier simply followed him for the stories. Oh, the _stories_ he could write as the traveling companion of the White Wolf himself! It was enough to make any bard salivate, honestly. And he knew what being a Witcher _meant_. They were given longevity, but their price? Hatred from others. Isolation. A dangerous life. Retirement granted only by the last, feeble beat of a too-slow heart. Gods, it was so _romantic_ , in a tragic, fucked-up sort of way; the way that made a fantastic story but a terrible reality. The moment he saw the man, he knew that he had to follow him, that he would follow him anywhere. And, well, he was also bored. At his age, who could blame him? What hadn't he seen or done? Pretty much just this.

Over the time they wandered together, Jaskier fell in love pretty quickly, though it was a natural progression for him. He had known that Geralt didn't suspect his true nature, of course — he'd spent ages learning to hide it, after all. He was, and is, powerful, ancient, formidable. Honestly, he would bet his last Oren that even one of his own brethren couldn't suss him out if he didn't want them to. He does play the hapless companion _so_ well, after all.

Even after decades of companionship, the Witcher didn't really catch on. He supposes he can't blame him, really — they don't try to live amongst the mundane humans, can't really, and it took Jaskier himself a while to stop being surprised at how quickly the poor creatures withered and died. Still, over those decades, he had gotten Geralt to slowly open up to him, to lower his guard, to let him in. The first kiss they shared was, without a doubt, the most wonderful and beautiful moment of his long and mostly wasted life (for now that he knew what he had been missing, any moment he wasn't kissing Geralt was surely a moment wasted). 

They have been together for a while now, in a romantic sense, and even longer in general. While it's honestly been great, perhaps the best years of his life, he's starting to get a little uneasy about it. It's not that he wants it to end, Melitele forbid! In fact, it's quite the opposite: he wants to take the next step. That, unfortunately, presents him with a few problems. 

For starters, Geralt doesn't yet know his true nature. While he should have told him ages ago, it's become something of the 'impossible task'; that is to say, the longer he waits, the harder it gets, and he can't really bring himself to break that cycle yet. If and when he comes clean to Geralt, he is going to have to explain why he didn't sooner, and he doesn't really have an answer for that. At first he thought it didn't matter, and the longer they stayed together, the more it mattered but the more difficult it got. By the time he actually felt like maybe he should tell Geralt that he wasn't human, he already sort of felt like it was too late. And it's not like he hasn't dropped hints, but he _knows_ Geralt. If Jaskier doesn't tell him outright, he'll just never pick up on it, the poor dear.

So, there's that, but it's only the baseline of why he can't stop thinking about their future. Everything else stems from what he is, as well. Will Geralt want to stay with him when he finds out that his bard is actually a vampire? Probably, Jaskier thinks, because Geralt has actual friends who are like him, and Geralt has always been firm in his belief that monsters are defined by what they _do_ , not what they _are_. Jaskier doesn't go off preying on peasants or terrorising townsfolk, or any of the other frankly insulting stereotypes about his kind. He hasn't even used his vampire form for at least a hundred years (though he's half-shifted every now and again, when needs must, but it hardly counts). 

Geralt choosing to stay with him is not actually a huge concern, in the end. Worse comes to worst he'll likely be a bit put out, perhaps angry with himself for not noticing, and Jaskier will give him some time and space to pout and brood about it before things are more or less back to normal. So, that's not even close to the biggest thing holding him back.

The problem with longevity like his is that, well, he's come to expect certain things. He expects heartbreak, which is why he flits from affair to affair, his affections changing with the wind. It's easier to end things on his own terms than for time to do it for him, after all, and that's ignoring how rare it is for someone to be able to hold his attention for an entire lifetime, or how they would generally react when finding out that he doesn't age and can't keep them from doing so as well. It's all a bit much, really, so he prefers to nip that in the bud in most cases. While he has always been a romantic, and he always will be, he had never planned on settling down. Oh, when he was young and naive, of course he'd thought of it. He'd given so much thought to what he would do when he met _the one_ that it was actually a bit embarrassing, looking back on it (or would be, if he could be arsed to have a sense of shame). 

His kind are so rare that it's almost laughable that they have courtship rituals, but he supposes they had been a bit more centralised back in the day. It made sense for his parents, but likely would never make sense for him, he had thought. Obviously, he was wrong, because now he is trying desperately to remember what he is supposed to do to court someone. That it happens to be a Witcher, well, surely his parents would understand in a few hundred years.

And honestly he was never entirely honest with his lovers; there was one surefire way for a Higher Vampire to keep someone else from aging, but he had never been willing to make that step, to willingly tie his life force to another as Geralt had accidentally done with Yennefer all those years ago. It should be something special, and while he had loved many people, he had never seen them as someone to spend his eternity with. He has always been so easily bored, after all, that marriage to him seemed more cruel than kind. 

Of course, no one had _ever_ kept his attention like Geralt.

Normally he would be through five different affairs at least by now, but he has instead stayed loyal to the same man for what, fifty years now? And they haven't even been fucking for most of it. Yes, Jaskier has loved before, but never like _this_.

He is willing to give this man everything, and that is something he cannot simply allow to slip away.

So here he is, thinking about how to court his Witcher. He's not going to outright say, "I am a vampire and I wish to court you," because even though things like this usually must be stated in no uncertain terms to be understood by the other man, that's simply not how these things are _done_. He thinks he can be overt enough that Geralt will catch on, but subtle enough that he's not _tacky_ about it. And if it _does_ take Geralt a while to figure out, well, it's not like he doesn't have _time_. 

The process has to be tailored slightly, since Geralt is not a vampire, but Jaskier is only too happy to make do. The first step is to prove that he can provide for his intended. While they do not _need_ blood to survive, it's _nice_. The pleasant buzz, the warmth, it's lovely, and who wouldn't want to spend their life with a little luxury? While Geralt doesn't usually _do_ luxury, the point is still there: Jaskier can provide him with comforts, and he can do so easily. 

Unfortunately, humans (and, by extension, Witchers) do not experience blood in the same way he does. Luckily, alcohol works on them in much the same way. While it takes a lot to get a Witcher well and truly sloshed, that only serves to help Jaskier. For starters, he can show that he can provide enough alcohol even for a Witcher; furthermore, he knows that there is a concoction that works for Witchers in much the same way vodka does to humans, and blood to Higher Vampires. He thinks it's called White something, White Seagull, perhaps? Well, it doesn't matter; he can provide it, and he shall.

**

Geralt is pretty sure that Jaskier is up to something. This, of course, happens, but he never likes it. He doesn't like not knowing what's going on when it's something that involves him. 

And while, yes, they have been together now — in more ways than one — for a good while, sometimes Geralt just doesn't trust him. Not in a real way, mind; he just doesn't trust that the bard won't do something incredibly stupid. He's always been so reckless, if Geralt's hair hadn't been turned white from the Trials it probably would have turned white just from the _stress_ the little songbird puts him through. 

See, lately, Jaskier has been acting odd. He is fidgeting with his hands a lot more in the way he does when he's nervous or expecting something. He keeps glancing furtively at Geralt when he thinks the other isn't looking, quickly looking away when he finds out that he is. His chattering has a more nervous quality, like when he's trying to stall for time, distract a noble, get himself out of trouble. 

After maybe a week of this, Jaskier suggests that they try to find the nearest town. True, they have been on the road a bit longer than usual. Perhaps, Geralt thinks, Jaskier has simply been craving civilisation but hasn't known how to bring it up. It makes Geralt relax, somewhat, and he agrees more quickly than usual. The bright look on Jaskier's face when they make it to a town — "A real one, Geralt, with an inn and an alchemist!" — stirs something within him, has a small smile pulling at the corners of his own mouth.

It is interesting that Jaskier remarks on the alchemist, but Geralt knows that the bard sometimes worries if he's low on potions and ingredients, so he doesn't think too much of it in the end.

They part for the day — Geralt goes to the notice board to pick up whatever contracts may be waiting for him, and Jaskier heads straight for the market. For once, he does not pester Geralt, does not ask him to come along to the market stalls and look at baubles and trinkets, does not beg to come along to watch him cut down a nest of harpies. Apparently he has some business he needs to attend, some things to look for in the market. Geralt almost feels guilty that he has apparently been keeping the other from this, but after all this time he knows very well that the bard would not follow him if he wanted to do something else, so he quashes that feeling and goes out to do his job.

When he comes back, he's in a pretty good mood. For once, there was nothing unexpected about the contract, no extra harpies or secret nests of something worse; it was straightforward, and he collects his gold and makes his way into the tavern to find his bard.

"Dunno why 'e 'ad to buy every ploughing bottle'a the good stuff," someone grouses as he steps inside the inn.

"Aye, not like the bard could drink it all 'imself," another says, and _that_ gets Geralt's attention. "'E barely looks old enough to 'andle one shot!"

"Where'd'ya reckon 'e got all the coin fer it?" the first man asks.

"Fuck if I know. All's I know's I managed to get a bottle 'fore the little bastard snagged 'em all."

The men continue chattering, but Geralt's no longer interested. Now he's confused, a little concerned, and a lot suspicious. Either there's two bards in this backwater town, or Jaskier is about to go on a bender, and while he is surprisingly good at holding his liquor, Geralt is not looking forward to babysitting a drunk Jaskier. 

Before he can even say anything to the innkeeper, she's bustling him up the stairs, talking about how the young man had said to send him up, so apparently Jaskier has already gotten them a room. He steps in and—

"Geralt!" Jaskier says, his grin almost nervous. "No injuries, I see. It went well, then?"

Geralt grunts in assent and glances around the room. There is actually no liquor in here that he can see. If Jaskier really had bought out the bar, there would be a fair amount of bottles in here. "I heard an interesting rumour downstairs," Geralt tells him, just in case, to see how he'll react. "Something about a bard buying out the whole bar."

His cheeks actually flush, which was not the reaction Geralt was expecting. "Ah, well. I bought a few bottles of vodka, a little wine," he says dismissively. For some reason, Geralt isn't buying it.

"That so," he says, not bothering to make it sound like a question.

For once, Jaskier doesn't seem to want to talk, going back to whatever he was doing. Geralt narrows his eyes, but doesn't pry; whatever's going on, it will probably come to light faster if he just goes with it for now.

He's actually about to let it go entirely, stripping off his armour, but when he opens his pack for a change of clothes, he notices that something is off. His pack is filled to the brim with bottles, but they don't look like vodka, they look like... potions? He knows he hadn't had this many potions before he left, and he lifts a bottle to inspect the label. 

His pack is full of White Gull.

"Jaskier?"

"Hm, yes, Geralt dear?"

"What is this?"

Jaskier looks over to him, then looks away again in that almost demure way he has been lately. "I wouldn't know, darling, you're the one who knows about potions and things."

"You know what I mean." He stalks over to the bard, one bottle in hand. "My bag is full of White Gull. It wasn't before."

The bard fidgets, still not meeting his eyes. "Yes, well..." Geralt waits, but it seems Jaskier isn't planning on finishing that thought.

"Well?" he prompts, and Jaskier reddens again.

"I know it takes a lot for you to have a good time, what with that metabolism of yours," Jaskier carefully tells him. "And you're not the best at indulging yourself, usually, so I thought I'd give you a hand."

Geralt frowns at him. "If you wanted to have sex, there are easier ways to say so," he answers after some time. Jaskier gapes back at him.

"That's— I wasn't— It's not like that," he insists finally. Apparently, for once, the bard is having trouble finding the right words, and Geralt snorts with amusement.

"You should return these," he tells Jaskier, and he is confused by the sudden hurt look on the bard's face. "I appreciate the thought, but it must have cost a fortune."

"I made enough coin over the winter," Jaskier insists.

"It could be used for more practical things," Geralt insists right back. Jaskier is looking more upset as the conversation drags on, and Geralt simply cannot understand why. "At least let me pay you back."

"No, out of the question," Jaskier says, and it seems like that's his breaking point, because he says something about needing space and stomps back downstairs. Geralt has no idea what the fuck just happened, and sighs. Maybe he can use it for potion bases, he thinks.

**

That was _abysmal_. 

His first attempt at courting Geralt failed horribly, and he knows he shouldn't be as upset as he is but he really needs a moment to cool off and recalibrate. Of course Geralt isn't a vampire, he's a Witcher, and apparently the poor sods have never heard of 'leisure' in that stupid, crumbling castle of theirs. And, okay, Jaskier knows it wasn't a _rejection_ , but it still hurt something fierce when Geralt actually tried to get him to _return it_. Why should he care about the cost? The whole point is that he _can_ provide it, no trouble at all! 

No, the reprobate apparently has no idea what to do with a gift and, well, Jaskier shouldn't be surprised. In retrospect, it _may_ have been a bit much all at once. He understands that Geralt is bad at accepting nice things, and he was right about those potions not being cheap. The alcohol he bought as a base for the potions cost a small fortune on its own, let alone the alchemist’s fees for making them. Perhaps Jaskier just needs to switch tactics?

He is pretty sure that the 'provide blood (or in this case alcohol)' step of his grand courtship plan is, unfortunately, entirely ruined. There's really no coming back from this, he went too hard, too fast, so he'll just have to scrap it altogether and proceed to the next part. 

A Higher Vampire has a certain level of influence over lesser vampires, and while Jaskier rarely takes advantage of that influence, he has no qualms about doing so when he needs to. This, of course, is a need. One must prove to one's intended that they have said influence, and while he's always considered it a bit show-off-ish, he's not going to _not_ try it. 

**

Geralt is pretty sure there's something in the fucking water around here. Some kind of magic or parasite or something that gets into people's blood and then gets into vampires and makes them act in ways they shouldn't.

Alright, he can concede that that's not likely, but neither is what's been happening to him lately. 

After the fiasco at the inn, where Jaskier gave him what was probably enough White Gull to kill five Witchers, things sort of went back to normal. Jaskier has still been a little nervous, flighty even, but it's less than it was before and at this point he has decided he'll take what he can get. Only, for the past few days, he has been encountering a lot more vampires than normal.

None of them are remotely hostile.

The first time, it's a Katakan. The creature lumbers up to them one night as they sit by their fire, and before Geralt can even draw his sword and tell Jaskier to get back, it stops a good distance away and _bows_ to them. 

In all his years hunting monsters, Geralt has never seen a Katakan bow. Admittedly, he lets his guard down slightly just out of sheer confusion, and that gives the thing enough time to stalk closer. He does draw his sword this time, but when he does, it stops and holds up its hands (or what passes for hands on a Katakan, anyway) in the universal gesture of surrender. One of its hands is holding something that glints in the firelight.

"Put that thing away," Jaskier chides him, one hand resting gently on his sword arm. "Clearly he doesn't mean to harm us."

And hearing Jaskier call this beast _he_ instead of _it_ is also weird, but before Geralt can try to figure out if the bard is enthralled or something, the thing bows again and shuffles closer. Slowly, it reaches out the hand in which it is holding the shiny thing, as if it is giving it to Geralt.

Geralt stares. The creature does not move. 

"I think he wants you to take it," Jaskier says pointedly, and just because he doesn't know what else to do, Geralt does. As soon as it's in his hand, the Katakan lumbers off into the woods again, and that's that. Geralt looks down at his hand, and he's holding a ribbon with a little wolf charm on the end of it.

Jaskier is chattering about something, but he isn't paying attention. What the fuck just happened?

The second time, it's a Bruxa. It's the next night, and Geralt is a little more guarded in the off chance that another monster decides to waltz into their camp. Only, apparently it isn't an off chance, because it happens. The Bruxa just saunters over to him, hips swaying, naked body on full display. Despite its nudity, it stops a safe distance away and curtsies at him, and it's so absurd that he almost wants to laugh.

Before he knows what's happening, the Bruxa is on one knee in front of him, head bowed in supplication, holding something out in its hand as the Katakan had. It doesn't take him as long to take it this time, and the thing screeches something in its language that he can't understand before sauntering off into the forest. 

This time, his gift is a new silver dagger, carefully wrapped in cloth so that the Bruxa wouldn't have to touch it. And why the fuck would a vampire give him a weapon that he could use against it? 

Jaskier, for his part, does not look at all perturbed by this, as if this is just a normal thing that happens. And, fuck, does he think it is? Does he think that Witchers just get gifts from monsters sometimes in the middle of the woods? 

"This isn't normal," he says before he can really think about it, and Jaskier glances at him.

"You don't say," the bard says drily. Geralt frowns. 

"It doesn't make sense," he insists, and Jaskier simply shrugs.

"Perhaps they are compelled by something more powerful than them," he says, and he sounds as if he's trying to drop some kind of hint but Geralt can't possibly fathom what kind of hint there would _be_ for him to drop so he figures he's imagining it, a side effect of the confusion of the past few days. 

He goes to sleep, bewildered, and hopes that that is the end of it. 

It's not.

The third night he isn't even surprised when a Fleder walks slowly into camp, even though he's used to the things rushing at him with their fangs bared. This one stomps over, bows as the other two had, gives him his gift, and leaves.

This time, it is a single ruby. Geralt stares at it for a moment before he turns and starts packing up their things. 

"Geralt? Geralt, what in the—"

"We're leaving," he says gruffly, not pausing for a moment.

"It's the middle of the night," Jaskier reminds him, and Geralt grunts.

"We're getting the fuck out of here," he insists. "Don't know what's making them act like this, but I've had enough of it."

**

That didn't go well either.

The first gift, Geralt was confused but didn't seem too upset. He took it, at the very least. The second, Jaskier dropped probably his least subtle hint _ever_. He'd had to really work for that one, using more of his power than he had in several lifetimes to make the Bruxa do something that was so against her nature as giving a _silver dagger_ to a _Witcher_. Geralt had gone straight to bed after so he figured that the man probably just needed a little time to process things and, if Jaskier was lucky, Geralt would finally take the fucking hint and this whole process could go a lot faster.

Of course, he was not so lucky.

The third gift, Jaskier knew, was not very practical, but it was symbolic. A ruby was _always_ the third gift, that was just the way things were. And since Geralt had received the other two so well (read: not violently), he thought that he'd made his intentions clear enough. Apparently fucking not! Now they aren't going to get any sleep at all and while Jaskier will be fine, he knows that Geralt sleeps rather restlessly as it is.

Oh.

Actually, he realises that this is the perfect way to continue to the next phase of his courtship of the White Wolf. Higher Vampires can have a certain level of control over dreams, and it's a way to both show off his own power and show his intended that they never have to worry when they are with him. He has shown that he can provide luxury, and he has shown the depth of his influence, so now he simply needs to show that he can provide comfort as well. 

He is _sure_ that this time, things will go well.

**

For the past few nights, Geralt has not been sleeping. He knows that there are creatures that can influence the dreams of others but usually they create nightmares. He has been having a very different experience.

He is no stranger to nightmares. The things that he has seen and done and that have been done to him were bound to have some effect on him, but as long as he is able to get up and fight the next day it doesn't really matter if he has pleasant dreams or not. 

Lately, though? Whenever he starts having a nightmare, it shifts. There's this sort of swooping feeling, like vertigo, and everything changes around him abruptly. It's always slightly different, but Jaskier is always there.

It's not as though he only has nightmares. Sometimes he does have pleasant dreams. Sometimes he has very _heated_ dreams. That is normal, and nothing to be concerned about. This is not that.

In the first dream, rocks are being thrown at him in Blaviken while the dead eyes of everyone he has ever cared about stares up at him. Renfri, of course, but also people who weren't even there, like Ciri and Vesemir and Yennefer and Triss and Zoltan and—

Jaskier shows up and with a wave of his hand, the bodies disappear. One by one, everyone reappears but alive, dressed in finery. They are at a party, smiling and laughing and dancing. Jaskier is playing his lute, of course, but then the lute is playing itself and Jaskier is asking him for a dance. He allows himself to be led to the dance floor, but the sight of Vesemir twirling Ciri and Lambert slow dancing with Triss with a smile that Geralt is pretty sure has never actually graced his lips—

Geralt wakes up in a cold sweat. 

The next night is different. He is in the Striga's crypt, her sarcophagus filling slowly with blood. He cannot move the lid and is sure that he will drown in it when suddenly there is a blinding light and he is not trapped in a tomb and drowning in blood, but lying on a beach, gentle waves lapping at his legs. He sits up and Jaskier is there, smile as bright as the coastal sun. It's actually pleasant, and he allows himself to relax before he remembers Jaskier asking him to _come to the coast with me_ and he remembers that day on the mountain, the hurt he'd caused, and— 

The dream dissolves, and Geralt wakes again.

The next night, he is not looking forward to bedding down. They are in an inn, and Jaskier is warm beside him, so even though he tries to keep himself awake it is ultimately useless. He falls asleep once more, and in this dream, he is small. His mother is leaving him on the side of the road, and it's been so long but it still hurts watching her walk away. A tiny hand reaches out for her but he cannot move his legs.

Jaskier shows up instead of Vesemir. He smiles at Geralt, picks him up, gives him a gentle kiss on the forehead. It is sort of bittersweet, and Geralt finds his tiny arms wrapping around Jaskier's neck, unwilling to let go. Then, unexpectedly, his mother returns. There is a blank look on her face, as if she is enthralled, and it _scares_ little Geralt, just a bit. Jaskier shushes him, sets him down, "Just for a moment, little one," and then—

He punches her.

Jaskier punches his mom right in the face.

It's shocking and confusing and Geralt wakes up laughing as tears run down his face.

By the fourth night Geralt has just about had it. He actually misses having nightmares, because at least with those he knew what to expect. He’s feeling on edge, he’s exhausted, he’s irritable; his temper is like a skittish horse, just waiting for the slightest gust of wind to provoke it. He stays up all night, staring into the fire, sharpening his swords, doing anything he can to keep himself awake. He’s dead on his feet the next day, and if something gets the jump on him it will definitely kill him, but he can’t even bring himself to _care_.

The fifth night, he sleeps again, and he doesn’t even start into a nightmare before he’s sitting at a little wooden table across from Jaskier who’s just sipping tea and Geralt actually clenches his hair in his fists and screams. Dream Jaskier looks at him, brow furrowed, worrying his lower lip between his teeth and says, “Oh. I’m sorry, Geralt, I didn’t realise…” And then Geralt wakes up. 

Thankfully, his dreams go back to normal after that.

**

For fuck’s sake, Jaskier is now three-for-three with this shit. Not one of his attempts has gone the way it was supposed to, and this time he actually feels _guilty_ which is _hardly_ romantic, but he hadn’t realised he was stressing Geralt out that badly. He was supposed to be helping! And, okay, Geralt never really did like parties, so he understood the first night not going so well. Fortunately (he thought it was fortunate, at the time) he had remembered his invitation, all those years ago, for Geralt to come to the coast with him. He thought, _that’s a nice thought_ and it was going _so well_ before stupid Geralt had to ruin the moment with his stupid guilt complex. And maybe if Jaskier hadn’t been the maestro of this dream he would never have known what went wrong but it’s kind of hard to be in someone’s head and not hear at least some of their thoughts.

It has actually been decades. Geralt has apologised more than once. He does not need to keep feeling bad about it.

But apparently he does, and that’s something for Jaskier to fix later so he definitely puts a pin in that, thank you very much. It was frustrating as hell to have things finally going so well only to suddenly slip through his fingers like all the fucking sand he’d conjured up in Geralt’s mind. 

He figures maybe it’s jarring to go from a nightmare to a good dream so quickly, so the next night he decides to switch tactics and turn his nightmare into something happy. And baby Geralt, alone on the side of the road, that breaks his fucking heart. The poor child, if only Jaskier had been able to be there, he could have raised him himself-- well. Okay, maybe not; that’s actually pretty creepy, when he stops and thinks about it alongside the nature of their current relationship. Still, though, he can be there for him in this version of the event so he picks up the sweet little thing and gives him all the affection that his asshole of a mother should have but didn’t—

And honestly maybe it isn’t the best idea for him to allow himself to get so worked up over it. He hasn’t influenced anyone’s dreams in ages, so he’s a little rusty with it, and when his emotions get the better of him it sort of takes the control away from him. Geralt’s mother comes back, and Jaskier thinks _well, while I’m here_ and punches her square in the nose. 

At least Geralt had woken up laughing.

At this point he decides that he’s going to give it one more shot, but in the least conventional way possible. He is going to influence the dream from the beginning. They are going to sit down, have a nice cup of tea, and talk about this. He is going to explain what exactly he is doing, and maybe it is cheating a little but technically _he_ isn’t announcing his intentions, Geralt’s subconscious is. Only, before he gets the chance, Geralt is screaming, and that’s when Jaskier realises that maybe he has taken this one a little too far.

So honestly, this one is a wash. Perhaps he should have considered that a person as private as Geralt wouldn’t like someone messing with his dreams. He can accept that he’s kind of fucked up here. He’s just going to have to suck it up, switch tactics (again), and try a little harder this time.

Eternity is such a _long_ time, and it can get so painfully, dreadfully _boring_ doing the same shit, day in and day out. It is thus imperative that one is able to show their intended that with them, life will _never_ be boring. Jaskier knows that he’ll do well with this one, because he is anything _but_ boring. He is going to shake things up, throw a little excitement into the mix. Even at his age, Geralt must be getting tired of doing the same things over and over. 

**

The bard is going to get himself killed, Geralt is sure of it. If he thought keeping him safe was a stressful, nearly-impossible task _before_ , it is _nothing_ compared to how things have been going lately. He actually wants to go back in time, grab himself by the shoulders, and beg himself to treasure how _easy_ it used to be to keep Jaskier alive. 

Jaskier’s whims have always changed with the wind and he has never had the best self-preservation instinct, but now it’s like he is trying to get himself killed. It starts when they come across a mage that has clearly lost his fucking mind, as they are wont to do. He’s ranting and raving, and spittle flies from his lips as he threatens to conjure a storm of fire and lightning on them for coming into his sacred space, or some nonsense. There are several reasonable responses to this, but Geralt can’t help but think, “Yeah, go ahead and try it, ugly,” is not one of them.

Geralt casts Quen in front of them so that for just a moment the mage can’t hurt his bard, and Jaskier actually sticks his tongue out. 

“Would you _stop_ taunting the angry mage,” Geralt hisses, and Jaskier just gives him a little pout.

After they escape the mage (which had only taken the old “what’s that behind you?” trick from Jaskier and a little running) Jaskier’s playing at a party for some noble, and he turns and honest-to-Gods _winks_ at Geralt before starting the song about the abortions, the one that got food thrown at him in Posada ages ago. The nobles are shocked, Geralt is shocked, the servants are shocked, the dogs are probably shocked. It devolves quickly from there into a little ditty that is very obviously about their host’s penis being mistaken for a mosquito bite, and Geralt sees the man’s face turn _purple_. In a split-second decision, he grabs the bard, throws him over his shoulder, and flees.

Somehow, Jaskier doesn’t think he did anything wrong. “I just wanted to liven it up,” he says with a little shrug, and Geralt wants to choke him.

Then they’re in the woods because there’s no way Geralt’s letting Jaskier step foot in a town anywhere near that party for at least a few years. They’ve made camp and Geralt has decided to hunt a little for something to eat and to calm his nerves. By time he’s made it back with a few rabbits, Jaskier is no longer there.

Fuck.

He drops the rabbits by their packs and sets out to look for Jaskier, hoping that he’s just gone off to take a piss and hasn’t been eaten by any wild animals or captured by bounty hunters or any number of horrible things that could (and probably would) happen to him. In less than five minutes, he finds Jaskier, who is not alone.

No, that would be too simple, which is apparently more than he deserves because Jaskier is trying to _ride a fucking Warg_. 

The beast is bucking and he’s holding onto fistfuls of fur at the back of its neck and whooping and laughing like this is some kind of game. Geralt can feel his blood pressure rising. His sword is drawn but there’s nothing he can do, not unless he wants to risk cutting into the bard, but when it bucks him off (and it will, of course) Geralt honestly doesn’t know if he can kill it before it kills Jaskier.

Miraculously, he does. Jaskier goes flying with the force the creature puts behind bucking him off, and before it can shake its fur out and then go eat him, Geralt has his sword in its neck and its head is rolling away.

“You didn’t have to kill the poor thing,” Jaskier says, far too light and untroubled for what just happened. 

“ _Never_ fucking do that again,” Geralt growls. He once again lifts the bard, throws him over his shoulder, and takes him back to the campsite. No way is he letting Jaskier out of his sight for a fucking _second_. 

“You’re no fun,” Jaskier says, and Geralt grits his teeth. Wisely, he drops it, and they spend the rest of the night in an uncomfortable state of near-silence.

In the morning, Geralt wakes, and Jaskier is still there. He heaves a sigh of relief and the both of them act as if the last night had never happened. They’re on the road again, when suddenly Jaskier gives him a sly little grin that Geralt does _not_ like the look of, after what has happened so far.

“Bet you can’t catch me,” Jaskier says almost conversationally, and before Geralt can even say ‘what’ he’s running off into the woods, down a twisting, bramble-filled path that isn’t a path. Roach can’t follow so Geralt jumps off of her back, tells her to stay put, and runs after the idiot. What else can he do?

It turns out that this particular wooded area is full of Archespores, and Geralt doesn’t know how Jaskier has managed to dodge the fucking things but it takes him extra time to cut them down and he almost loses the bard’s trail entirely. He is beyond angry, but nothing can make him angry enough to leave the other to certain death in the woods, so he continues to follow.

“Found me!” says a voice from behind him, and he’s twirling around and swiping his blade, but—

It’s Jaskier.

Thankfully, Geralt did not stab his idiot bard, even though there’s a growing part of him that sort of wants to. Instead he drops his sword and grabs Jaskier, none too gently, by the shoulders. 

“Stop,” he says.

Jaskier frowns, like he wasn’t expecting that somehow. 

“You have to stop trying to get yourself killed, or whatever it is you’re doing, I can’t—” Geralt sighs, then pulls Jaskier into a bone-crushing hug. “I can’t lose you.”

“Oh, dearest Witcher,” Jaskier says, hugging him back just as tightly. “I’m not going to die, you silly thing.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything to that, doesn’t have it in him to argue. Jaskier promises to be careful, and they go back to Roach, and continue their journey.

**

To be fair, Jaskier had sort of forgotten that Geralt thought he was fragile and mortal. Geralt is a warrior and a worrier and the latter is as endearing as it is pointless. Rather than make the white-haired man realise that he’s actually a fair bit sturdier than he’s given credit for, he’s only succeeded in scaring the poor thing out of his wits. Jaskier had been trying for fun and excitement, not a heart attack, so it’s back to the drawing board.

He thinks that this shows, if nothing else, that he still needs to prove his strength, his worth as a partner. While he does love playing the inept companion, he is not helpless, and he has to prove that if he ever wants any hope of Geralt marrying him. For Higher Vampires, rivalries are almost always simply a way to pass the time. There are no real threats to them, save each other, and one rarely goes as far as to kill another of their kind for several reasons. While _I can keep you safe_ is not a _necessary_ sentiment for them, it is a _nice_ one. Even near-invincible beings want to be cared for. Putting in the effort of protecting someone simply because you can is romantic as fuck. 

It’s very similar with Geralt, he thinks. Geralt can absolutely hold his own in any fight, is strong and capable, and Jaskier is painfully aware that it means he doesn’t expect anyone to take care of him. Jaskier has been taking care of him in little ways for decades now, small gestures that he had to work to get the Witcher to accept: washing his hair, treating his wounds, paying for his drinks every now and again, things like that. He has never tried to outright _protect_ Geralt, though. For one, it would definitely conflict with his “slightly inept human bard” persona, and also Geralt might find it offensive.

Still, that’s when he _isn’t_ trying (and apparently failing) to court the man, so he moves to the next step of his grand plan: prove that you are able and willing to defend your intended by offering them the head of an enemy. And as a Witcher, Geralt has no shortage of enemies, so Jaskier hopes that this one will actually be easy.

**

Jaskier isn’t trying to get himself killed anymore, which is honestly such a relief. His behaviour has been off for a while now and Geralt is honestly really worried. It feels like there’s something that he should be figuring out but isn’t and it’s not a good feeling. He hopes that either he figures it out soon, or things go back to normal on their own, because he doesn’t know how much more weird shit he can take, if he’s being honest.

Of course, there is only more weird shit in store for him.

He wakes one morning and rolls over to greet Jaskier, maybe even ask what’s been going on, but instead of being greeted by the sight of a groggy bard with sleep-mussed hair, he wakes to a severed head.

It’s a fucking head.

It’s staring at him. He stares back, for just a moment, before he pushes himself up with a shout. It’s not Jaskier’s head, at least; it’s missing some teeth, and the ones it does have are dirty and half-rotten. It has no hair, and its nose is squashed like it’s been broken a few too many times over the years. 

“Geralt, Geralt, stop _screaming_!” says a voice from behind him, and he turns, and _there_ is Jaskier, only—

His hands are covered in blood, his _lips_ are covered in blood, it’s smeared across his face and this is _too much_. 

With a growl, Geralt grabs Jaskier (or this _thing_ that looks like Jaskier) by the front of his doublet and slams him against a tree. He lets out an ‘oof’ and the wood cracks but he looks unhurt. 

“What the fuck is going on,” he snarls, getting close to the thing with Jaskier’s face. “Where is Jaskier? What are you?”

“My darling—” Geralt pushes it harder into the tree. How _dare_ it still try to trick him, to use Jaskier’s endearments for him! “Geralt, honestly, it’s _me_!”

“Bullshit,” Geralt answers him. “You’ve been acting strange for weeks now. I should have fucking known. Where is he? The real Jaskier?”

“He’s right here, being pressed against a tree, you great buffoon!” it insists. 

“There’s a fucking _head_ by my bedroll,” Geralt says. It’s not quite a question, but he is demanding an answer.

The thing looks away, like Jaskier does when he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Ah. Well. It _was_ a bandit,” it says. “Heard it talking about ‘bagging a Witcher’, apparently the next town is not very welcoming, so we should really avoid it.”

“There is no ‘we’,” Geralt says, though his grip does loosen just a little against his better judgment. “So you killed a bandit. Why put his head next to where I’m sleeping?”

The not-Jaskier fidgets with its hands like the real Jaskier does when he’s nervous. “Well, you see, I…” It clears its throat. “I wanted to show that I could… take care of you.”

“What.”

“You heard me,” it snaps with a little pout. “I know you’re a big, scary Witcher, and you don’t _need_ anyone to protect you, but I— I just wanted you to know that I _could_. If you’d allow it.”

Geralt drops him.

He takes a deep breath, and watches the bard brush his shoulders off. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” he asks, and he’s not even sure why he’s humouring this, but he doesn’t really know what else to do.

The Maybe-Jaskier reaches out, slowly, towards his chest. He glares for a moment, but lets it. Its hand rests against his medallion, which does not react.

Geralt lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Jaskier,” he says, sitting heavily. “I can’t fucking take this anymore. _What_ has been going on with you lately?”

Jaskier is quiet, even as he sits next to Geralt. He tears at a leaf he finds on the ground, unable to still his hands even now. “I’ve been courting you,” he finally says, and it’s so absurd but it isn’t, really, and all Geralt can really say is—

“You’ve what?”

The bard sighs. “I said I’ve been courting you. Admittedly I’ve done a terrible job of it, but I’ve been _trying_.”

“So what, trying to get yourself killed is how courtship works in Lettenhove?” Geralt asks, and it’s almost a tease but his tone is so frayed from all the stress this has put him through lately that Jaskier actually looks a little guilty. 

“Geralt, I’m not human,” he admits.

“I think I figured that out,” answers Geralt, “after the severed bandit head.”

Jaskier lets out a shaky, watery little laugh. “Well, he tasted awful,” he says, as if that’s a reasonable answer, and Geralt thinks he suddenly understands.

“You’re a vampire.”

“Higher Vampire,” Jaskier corrects with a little smile. 

“I never knew.”

“I know.”

After a pause, Geralt asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jaskier shrugs, ripping up more leaves, not looking Geralt in the eye. “I don’t know,” he admits. “At first it didn’t seem important, but then… I don’t know, by the time I decided I should probably tell you, it had been so long. I felt sort of… guilty? For keeping it from you. So I just kept not saying anything, and more time passed, and I felt more and more guilty, and it just… snowballed. Horribly.”

Geralt nods, hums in understanding. “And you didn’t tell me about this plan to court me because…?”

“Because that’s just not the done thing,” Jaskier answers like it’s obvious, like he ever cares about what ‘the done thing’ is. “Just outright stating your intentions — if I wanted to do that, I’d just skip courtship altogether. You deserve more. You deserve to know that, that I mean it, and that this is _real_ for me, and that if you’ll have me, it won’t be… a mistake.”

Frowning, Geralt puts one of his hands over both of Jaskier’s, stilling them. “I wouldn’t be the one making the mistake,” he says carefully, hoping the implication is clear.

Jaskier scoffs. “Oh, please, Geralt. If you’re trying to imply that loving you is a mistake, I’ll scream.”

“It wouldn’t be your best idea,” Geralt answers, “binding yourself to a Witcher. You deserve—”

“I deserve what I want,” Jaskier snaps. “I want _you_. I am _old_ , Geralt, and I am powerful. I have had a very long time to work out what pleases me. This is not something I have ever done, or thought I would do, and it is _not_ something I do lightly, but it is something that I so desperately wanted to do _right_.”

“Why?” Geralt asks again.

“Because you deserve it! You deserve _everything_. And, while we’re being candid, you deserve to know what you’d be getting into if… if you were to accept.” Now Jaskier is looking at him, and his eyes are so, so blue. Geralt feels like he couldn’t look away if he tried. “When you said I would bind myself to you, you were more right than you may realise. Marriage is a very serious thing, for us. There is magic involved, and it is ancient, primal. It would change you, though I admit I don’t know how — I don’t know of any of my kind who have wed a Witcher, after all. 

“But you would not age, not even as slowly as you do now. No wound would fell you, except from my kind. I would be giving you eternity, and it would be an eternity bound to me. The way the djinn bound you to Yennefer is similar, in a perverse, twisted sort of way. I need you to know that it is more than a ceremony and a ring and a promise of a ‘forever’ that you will only ever see a fraction of.”

There is a long silence as Geralt processes the information he has just been given. His hand does not move from Jaskier’s the entire time. 

“Very well,” he says, and Jaskier is looking at him in awe.

“You mean—”

“Yes,” he breathes, and the kiss they share is sweet enough that he can forget that Jaskier’s mouth is still coated in a bandit’s blood. “Do me a favour, though?”

“Anything.”

“Next time you decide not to tell me something because it’s ‘not the done thing’, let me know so I can punch you.”

Jaskier’s answering laugh is as bright as their future.

**Author's Note:**

> I also wanted to name this "Severed Heads, and Other Romantic Gestures" or "The Inherent Romance of a Severed Head" but I didn't want to spoil the ending lmfao


End file.
